Mr and Mrs Knightley
by HLJ137
Summary: A brief interlude as Emma and Mr. Knightley finalize their wedding preparations. Fluffy one-shot :)


_A/N: This quick drabble is based on the 2009 BBC remake of_ Emma _, as it is one of my favorite Austen adaptations. I love Emma and Knightley, and I just re-watched the 2009 version, so I couldn't resist writing this. Hope you all enjoy! Please leave a review if you can :)  
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As the wedding was only one week away, Mr. Knightley had recently been spending the majority of his time at Hartfield to assist in the matrimonial preparations. Of course, he had other, more personal reasons to wish to spend most of his time in the company of his neighbors, primarily because it afforded him time to spend with his betrothed.

At the present, he stood in the parlor, nodding along as Mr. Woodhouse recited his list of numerous things that could go wrong on the day of the wedding. Mr. Knightley was doing his best to pay attention and to placate his soon-to-be father-in-law, but he found his eyes and attention were increasingly drawn to the opposite side of the room, where Emma sat at the desk, writing in her diary. To his own surprise, Mr. Knightley found himself increasingly interested in what she might be writing. He wondered what she was thinking at this very moment, and how she might be recording those thoughts in her diary. He found that he very much wished they were alone.

As he watched, Emma leaned back a bit, looked down at what she had written, and grinned happily. Mr. Knightley couldn't help but smile himself, as a ghost of her happiness always managed to find its way to him whenever she smiled that way.

Mr. Woodhouse's voice brought Mr. Knightley back to the issue at hand: "And what if it rains?" the elder man protested, pausing and staring at Mr. Knightley worryingly. He was clearly expecting a response from Mr. Knightley, but when none was forthcoming, he added, "We are going to have the reception outside, so what will we do if it rains?" He seemed to be upsetting himself more by the moment.

Mr. Knightly brought his attention back to Mr. Woodhouse and put on his best reassuring smile. "Well," he said lightly, "I am sure we can handle that eventuality. We will put up canopies, or perhaps move the reception inside." He directed the elder man towards his customary chair. "It will all be well sir," he promised, "not to worry". Mr. Woodhouse grumbled as he settled himself into his chair beside the fire, and Mr. Knightley stifled a sigh. At least the man was placated for the moment.

Granted a reprieve, Mr. Knightley let his attention shift back to his betrothed. Smiling internally, he ran that word around in his head a few times: _betrothed. To Emma._ It still hardly seemed real to him.

As he watched, Emma wrote a few things, paused, then wrote a few more. Then, once again, she sat back and smiled, laughing a bit to herself and tapping her quill contentedly. Seemingly satisfied with her work, she sat the quill down and stood, leaving her diary lying open to the page she had been working on.

Finished at the desk, Emma turned around and joined the men by the fire. She motioned for Mr. Knightley to sit before positioning herself on the couch between her father's and Mr. Knightley's customary spots. It was nice, she thought, that Mr. Knightley already had his own spot here at Hartfield. It would make everything so much easier for everyone after the wedding.

Mr. Woodhouse looked at Emma skeptically before asking, "Emma dear, has your dress been prepared yet?'

Emma nodded with a kind smile. "Yes father," she assured him, "it was finished yesterday."

Her father nodded halfheartedly. His face still reflected worry and doubt. "Are you sure you have a thick enough shawl?" He asked, still uneased. "It might be drafty in the church."

Emma glanced behind her and shared a quick private smile with Mr. Knightley before turning back to her father. "Of course father, I made sure to include a matching shawl included, just in case."

With one last grumble, the momentarily subdued Mr. Woodhouse turned his attention back to the fire, and Emma looked back at Mr. Knightley. "Have you heard from the Martins yet?" She asked him. "Harriet assured me that Mr. Martin would tell you whether he thought she would be well enough to make it to Hartfield for the wedding."

Three weeks prior, Emma had called on Harriet at Abbey Mill Farm. She had arrived to find her friend waiting eagerly for her arrival and veritably bursting with excitement. Harriet had informed Emma that she was expecting a new addition to their family, and Emma had been overjoyed for her. They had agreed that she would be "Auntie Emma" to the new baby and spent the rest of the day speculating on the gender and discussing possible names for the baby. Their visit had been the most pleasant Emma had experienced in a long time.

However, to Emma's dismay, she had received a letter a week later from Mr. Martin. He informed her that Harriet was unwell but assured her that Mr. Perry said the baby was fine, and that some women experiences sickness during the early months of carrying a child. Mr. Martin said Mr. Perry had assured them not to worry, but Emma was dismayed. She was worried about her friend and upset that Harriet might not be able to be present for the wedding. Emma's last visit to the Martins had been one week ago, in which Harriet promised to have Mr. Martin send Mr. Knightley a letter when they determined whether Harriet could make it.

Mr. Knightley shook his head. "I have not had a letter from them yet," he said, "but I am sure Robert will write as soon as they know what Mrs. Martin's condition will be." Emma nodded and sighed, turning her gaze into the fire.

There was a lapse of conversation for a moment before one of the household staff presented at the doorway. Emma looked up at him questioningly, and the man announced, "Ms. Woodhouse, Cook requests your presence in the hall to sample some dishes for the wedding." Emma grinned and got up to follow the man out into the hall.

As Emma left the room, Mr. Knightley took a quick look at Mr. Woodhouse. When he was satisfied that the elder man was distracted by his own thoughts, Mr. Knightley got up and strolled to the other side of the room. He paused when he reached the desk where Emma had been writing before. Turning his head, he saw her with her back to him, talking to Cook over a rolling tray containing an array of possible dishes. He could hear her discussing the menu options animatedly and excitedly, and he could not keep a small grin off his face.

Idly, he glanced down at the diary that Emma had left open on the desk. He briefly worried that Emma would consider it an intrusion for him to read anything she wrote in her dairy, but he dismissed it. She was not a very private girl, his betrothed. He hardly thought she would mind. Squinting, he tried to make out what she had written.

The grin on his face turned into a warm, happy smile when he noticed that, across the page in different types of loopy script letters, Emma had written and re-written " _Mrs. Emma Knightley_ " and " _Mr. & Mrs. George Knightley_".

He smiled at the paper, then glanced up to watch Emma as she conversed with Cook. His eyes filled with happiness and love for the woman who would soon be his wife. Mr. Knightley stifled a laugh. Though he had always known Emma to be a bit idealistic and somewhat of a dreamer, he had never imagined her to be a silly romantic. Other girls wrote their married names down on paper in the weeks before their wedding, trying to decide on the best handwriting to suit their new name. But Emma? Mr. Knightley had never assumed her to be that type. Strangely though, he found it made his regard for her increase even more.

Sensing his eyes on her back, Emma turned around and met his gaze with a smile. She muttered a brief word dismissing Cook and walked over to where he stood still by the desk. With a hint of laughter in her eyes, she asked brightly, "what are you smiling about, sir?"

His grin matched hers when he replied, "I will have to get used to people calling you Mrs. Knightley here soon."

Emma laughed, and he reveled in the way it lit up her features. "I am sure you will be accustomed to it before you know it," she joked.

"Mmm," he said with a nod, "I am sure I will."

She laughed again, gifting him with one last smile before walking away to attend to her father. He watched her go, marveling that in just seven short days his best friend would become his wife.


End file.
